


Fist-Sized Heart

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:45:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she's pretty sure Dirk is asleep, Roxy allows herself to ponder just how she allowed herself to give into her emotions, and whether it's actually as bad as she thought it would be.</p><p>Mild, nondescript AU; second-person POV, focused on Roxy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fist-Sized Heart

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Reference to pulp fiction-esque gore in the beginning, but not enough to warrant an archive warning (if you think otherwise, let me know and I'll change it!). 
> 
> This is my first public Homestuck fanfic - I can safely say I have contributed to the fandom. Woo! 
> 
> I'll get the hang of this note-stuff eventually.

It always amazed you how the human heart was capable of feeling so much emotion. Emotion enough to make you feel like you were going to burst in a gory spray of pink. Emotion enough that you would - _could_ \- shut down completely, without any warning. Without a sound. Without the aforementioned gory spray of pink.

Depending on your mood, anyway. But the point was you were amazed how an organ the size of your fist - roughly though, you have a pretty small fist - could sustain such strong feelings, could contain so neatly the fireworks of your passion, because, by all reasonable logic, it shouldn't be able to. Fleeting moments of such strong love that you had to stop functioning momentarily, sit back and close your eyes, because that was the only way you felt like you could deal with the sudden overflow of sentimentality. That and an especially strong martini. Sometimes you just curled up and let the emotion pass, shivering as your back arched with the invisible caresses of a bittersweet lover.

Yeah, you think. That's what emotion is. Momentarily, you allow yourself to feel a little bit of pride in that fantastic analogy. A bittersweet lover for those who fear commitment. A loving man who stays the night, makes you coffee in the morning and makes you feel things you don't want to feel. Someone whose kisses make you feel equal parts wanted and fearful; the fact that it engulfs you so wholly makes you feel uncomfortable, but unlike a lover, you can't break up with your emotions.

Well, you can. But it's not worth the pain of apathy, you muse. What's worse? Feeling too much or feeling nothing?

Surely it can't be that bad to be devoid of feeling. Certainly, it's less hassle.

The smile on your lips widens - you didn't realize you were smiling before. You would miss the butterflies in your belly, the goosebumps along your skin, the racing of your pulse. You'd miss the adrenaline of feeling with your heart. You'd miss responding to your lover's fingers grazing your spine, responding with your mind, body, heart and soul. 

Strange, isn't it, how you can grow so used to a thing that the idea of being without it feels wrong. As you lay back down on the pillow, you accidentally nudge the man beside you who grunts and immediately wraps his arm around you. You smile wider, nuzzling close into him, burying your face into his neck and inhaling the scent of him. You can't bring yourself to wake him up. That would be cruel and he's always tired anyway.

You press a kiss against his collarbone. His arm tightens around your body. You're pretty sure he's awake but you don't want to check. You like the reverie he puts you in, you like the silence and proximity far too much. 

Conclusion: it would fucking suck not to be able to feel all that emotion. _That's_ why the last drink you had was months ago. You've been sober all this while, and it isn't the first time you've had this internal monologue. You drank to escape your emotions. You buried yourself in the problems of your friends so you didn't have time to listen to your own issues. Since you came to terms with the inevitability of feeling, you haven't felt the need to drink.

Since you let Dirk know the truth - even though he knew already - you haven't felt the need to drink. 

You curl up closer to him, impossibly close, wondering whether - if you willed it hard enough - you would sink into his body completely, be "one with him," to harken to a well-worn cliche. That sounds like a good prospect. Now that you've somewhat resolved your relationship with your emotions, you wonder _what goes through the mind of the Mysterious D-Strider._

You don't realize you've said that last part aloud until you feel him chuckle into your hair. The sound vibrates through his throat against your lips, making you smile and blush. You like that he can break down your defenses like that. You like everything about him in general.

"Did I stroke your ego, Dirky?" you tease, letting your fingers thread in his hair.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he yawns. You laugh, the butterflies that frequent your belly around him taking up residence once more. You attempt to sit up but he keeps you tightly cocooned. "Diiiirk, I'm starviiiing, let go!"

"Nope."

So you sigh as if he is putting you through an ordeal and stay in his arms with a pout on your lips and a song in your small-fist-sized heart.


End file.
